


do you wash your hair in honeydew

by buttface



Series: cabaletta [6]
Category: Show By Rock!! - All Media Types
Genre: Frottage, Hair Washing, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Second Person, POV Second Person: Rom, Shower Sex, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29252088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttface/pseuds/buttface
Summary: Another encounter in the shower.*He’s naked already. He must have left his clothes lying all over your living room on the way in. You realize this several beats before you realize that if you didn’t let him into your apartment, either he does remember where you hide the spare key or he still has his own.He smiles serenely and drops to his knees on the wet shower floor without saying a word.
Relationships: Rom/Shu Zo (Show By Rock!!)
Series: cabaletta [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688323
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	do you wash your hair in honeydew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [auto_thots (towards_morning)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/towards_morning/gifts).



> For James, who doesn't even go here but is always so kind. I hope it gives you at least a little bit of a distraction. (Sorry it's not the knotting one yet, but that's probably next.)
> 
> I feel obligated to note that we know Rom has a Western-style shower because we've seen it in his N bromide from the old game, and if the new game could give us another card of him butt-naked that'd be lovely thanks.

It’s been so cold lately, all you can think about on the train home is getting into the shower and warming up. Washing all the filth of a day’s work off your body. The heat is barely on in the office since your bosses refuse to pay for anything above the legal minimum, and yet you still end up stinking of stress and sweat. It just makes you colder.

At least you managed to catch the last train of the night this time. You may be willing to put up with a lot for the sake of your pride as an adult, but one more night spent finding all-night karaoke booths you can crash in might be more than you can physically take right now.

Your mind is empty when you finally open your much-missed front door. You do your best to hang up your suit so it won’t wrinkle and send the last few emails you couldn’t get done in the office, but it’s only so that you can finally reach the blessed relief waiting for you behind the bathroom door.

You turn the heat all the way up and lose yourself in the blissfully hot water splashing over your ears, and that’s probably why you don’t hear the front door open.

You can’t miss the bathroom door opening, of course. You drop into some approximation of a fighting stance and take stock of what you have in reach to defend yourself. Not a lot. You’ve got your raw upper body strength, of course, you’ve been good about keeping to your exercise routine even as the days grow short - what difference does it make to you, you’re never home when the sun is up anyway - but a wet shower isn’t the best place to try your grappling moves. You don’t tend to keep much in the shower besides soap, though there have been more and more mysterious and probably expensive objects turning up there lately.

Well, if you die trying to fight off a burglar with a bottle of what is apparently Infinite Color Hold Vibrancy Serum, at least you’ll die knowing your last day was spent helping your company achieve an imperceptibly larger profit margin.

Shuu pushes the curtain aside and steps into the shower.

“Fucking hell, Shuu,” you explode, sagging in relief. “I was ready to brain you with hair product. Can’t you knock?”

He’s naked already. He must have left his clothes lying all over your living room on the way in. You realize this several beats before you realize that if you didn’t let him into your apartment, either he does remember where you hide the spare key or he still has his own.

He smiles serenely and drops to his knees on the wet shower floor without saying a word.

"What are you…" you begin unnecessarily, as if you don't know. So much for interacting non-sexually. That'll put your streak back to zero from a post-reunion record one.

You can't say you mind. It's been such a long day, and his face is so peaceful as he leans forward and nuzzles at your slowly stiffening cock. 

His lips are uncharacteristically chapped; he must not have had a photoshoot today. Usually they're still glistening with lip gloss when he turns up at your door. You feel it catch and pull against your foreskin as he drags his dry lips down over the head of your cock, drawing it out.

You rest a hand on his head questioningly. He smiles up at you again and hands you a bottle of luxury shampoo, tucking a stray lock of damp hair behind his ear before turning his attention back to licking a teasing stripe halfway up your shaft. You stare dumbfoundedly for a moment while he waits there with the flat of his tongue pressed to you, looking innocent.

Right. You get the hint. He’s not doing anything until you wash his hair. That’s a request you have no trouble fulfilling.

You work the shampoo through his hair in firm circles, making sure to dig your nails into his scalp just so. He accepts your offering and lazily slips the tip of your cock into his mouth, moving as if he’s in no particular rush, arms folded indifferently behind his back. That’s fine, really. Everything always feels a bit dreamy and distant in the shower anyway and it takes you a while to really get worked up. It’s like lazy Sunday morning sex, back in the days when you had lazy Sunday mornings. 

(Shuu always said you never had time off from Amatelast, that everything you did was Amatelast. If that’s true, then Amatelast was a lot stickier than reported.)

And so it’s nice to scratch behind his ears as you lather him up and watch your cock slide smoothly over his lips now that they’re wet. You work mostly on the top of his head; you can wait to grab the back of his head to pull him close until you’re feeling a little more desperate. His hair is so thick and satisfying to scrunch your fingers through, entirely apart from the leverage it gives you to pump lazily into his mouth. But you do make sure the shampoo gets all the way to the short hairs at the base of his neck, too; you may be horny, but you still take pride in your work.

It’s good. You feel like you could stay here for hours and forget you have anywhere else to be. Arousal buzzes low and cozy in your gut as you stroke his head and he moves slowly on you, stilling when he needs a rest but always keeping you warm and just stimulated enough to stay hard and interested. 

When you’re satisfied that his hair is clean enough you walk forward a step so you can lean him back into the spray, careful to guard his canid ears with your hands. They’re so big that they collect water if he’s not careful and then he spends all day shaking his head irritably and grumbling about how his precious hearing is messed up. Besides, they’re soft to hold and fun to lead him around by, especially when he’s still working you with his mouth.

Once he’s adequately rinsed off you grab a bottle of what you assume must be his fancy conditioner since you certainly don't recognize it. He glances at it in your hands and doesn't object, so you figure you guessed right. Your mind's not really on what your hands are doing, to be honest; it’s on the soothing rhythm of your hips and the wet heat of his mouth and the warmth of the shower and the building static in your head. You accidentally squeeze far too much conditioner into your hands.

Well, nothing to be done for it, you can’t put it back in the bottle. He’ll just have to have extra conditioned hair. You smooth the creamy liquid through his hair, trying to at least make it kind of even and only a little bit grabbing him by the hair at the base of his neck so you can grind into his mouth. 

Shuu rolls his eyes, which is at least better than trying to fight you, especially when he’s got your dick in his mouth. He braces himself against your legs with one hand so he can run the other through his hair to collect the excess conditioner. Once he’s satisfied he slips his now slick finger into your ass. He moves without the urgency when he wants to open you up for his cock, just slow and comfortable in time with the smooth rhythm of his throat on you. it’s nice like this, too, just a little extra edge. You don’t feel the same urgent need to be stuffed as you do sometimes with him.

That little extra edge is enough to push you out of the pleasant dull buzz he’s been giving you and into sharp, desperate arousal. You growl, since somebody needs to make some noise around here if he isn’t, and you can feel him smile against you. He starts moving a little faster, just enough to drag you inexorably towards the edge without letting on that he’s in any hurry at all.

Fuck, you’re close. He’s always been able to get you exactly where he wants you, on precisely the schedule he intends. Sometimes if you’re lucky, like today, it happens to be the schedule that works for you, too. You give him a little warning tug on his ear out of politeness; it’s not like it matters if you get cum all over the place in here, after all. He just moves faster, taking you deeper into his throat and humming in satisfaction around you until you let go. 

It’s a long and rolling orgasm, the type where you can’t help groaning as you spurt over and over into Shuu’s mouth. You feel like your muscles are turning to jelly in relief.

He pulls off you slowly, mouth still obviously full, and leans back into the spray so you can watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows it all down. It is, as always from him, melodrama, but you’ve never denied his skill at presentation. He’s proud of himself, too, judging by how his dick stands flush against his belly.

“Can I return the favor or anything?” you ask, though you don’t really expect a verbal reply. He seems pretty dedicated to his silent act tonight.

He stands up and grabs a bar of your soap to wash his hands. When he’s done with that, he looks you in the eye and reaches down to soap up your thighs. Ah. 

You let him back you up against the wall and push your legs together so he can fuck himself off between them. He buries his head in your chest while he does it and you just stroke his hair, feeling warm and empty-headed with afterglow. You could almost drift off to sleep like this if you weren't soaking wet and if his hips weren’t thudding against your thighs. He still doesn’t say a word, you just feel him breathing hard against you. 

His hands are flat against the wall behind you but you can feel his wrists pressed into your waist, only trembling a little from the effort. You wish he would lose his composure at times like this, where nobody else can see, even if he never gives up his facade the rest of the time. You press your thighs a little closer together and feel his rhythm stutter just for a second as he has to push harder to get his swelling knot between them. It’s something, at least.

His breath is warm on your pec as the air chills your wet skin. It’s cold this far from the shower spray. You mouth absently at the tip of his ear. You told him once years ago they felt like rose petals and he laughed at you for so long you didn’t speak to him for the rest of the week, but there’s still something in the velveteen softness of them, the curve. You stroke his hair as he pumps himself, enjoying how soft it is. Those fancy hair products must be doing him some good.

Try twisting his hair in your hand, just a little, just enough to tug his head backwards a little. He jolts forward suddenly and it takes a few thrusts before he gets back to his original pace. Good. You'd hoped he'd enjoy that enough to make a noise, but you don't need words to take a hint when it comes to him.

You feel his knot approaching full size as it gets harder for him to fit all the way between your legs. He changes to sharp, shallow thrusts, moving as quickly as he can while standing in a slippery shower. He’s still too quiet, probably because he knows it annoys you, but there’s no hiding how close he is and how much trouble he’s having making it all the way to climax.

With one arm around him, pressing him to your chest with just a hint of claw, you take a fistful of hair in your other hand and pull, firm and inexorable. He rasps out a hiss as his throat is bared for him (for you), the throat so ostentatiously full of your cum just a moment ago. 

He looks you in the eye and digs his fingertips into your hips as he thrusts desperately one more time between your thighs.

Your skin is getting cold against the tile wall but it means you feel the hot splash of his cum vividly against your legs. He stays quiet, just breathes into your chest until you get tired of the cold and you have to walk the both of you back into the spray. 

You know he has some kind of body wash he keeps here, but you're feeling sentimental. You want him to smell like you, at least for a moment. So when you start washing his back, not letting him out of your embrace just yet, it's with your bar of the second cheapest soap the convenience store sells. The same one he’s smeared all over your thighs. He can cover it up with all the lotions and Judas branded body products he wants afterwards.

He huffs in faux offence, but he lets you lather him up without complaint. For a moment you’re just holding him, one arm around him justified by the bar of soap in your hand and the other just there because you don’t want to move it yet. 

You still need to wash his tail, of course. He definitely won't let you do that with bar soap; it's not like your tail fuzz which is too short to tangle. You try to reach for it, but he bats your hand away and gives it a quick and businesslike shampoo instead. Fair enough. You would probably take your sweet time with it, the way you’re feeling right now. 

That's enough running up your bills for one night. His patience with your exhausted soppiness is bound to be wearing thin. Yours certainly should be. You let go of him and shut off the water as soon as he's rinsed the suds off.

“Song trouble again?” you ask, handing him a towel. You’ve taken to having a few extras around, just in case. Not least because he tends to go through quite a few trying to dry his tail.

“Hm?” His voice is a little raspy when he finally does talk. That’s you that did that. “Oh, no. I just needed to wash my hair and you were on the way home.”

You don’t know what to make of that. He’s usually better at making excuses. But you’re warm and clean and sleepy and he’s not here to fight you and maybe, once in a while, it’s okay just to accept what you’ve been given.

**Author's Note:**

> other color treatments are available


End file.
